


The Stirring

by Nilsia_Tengun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Department of Mysteries, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Mystery, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilsia_Tengun/pseuds/Nilsia_Tengun
Summary: Strange things are happening to Róisín, a final year Ravenclaw student. When told that she will be in danger if discovered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, everything gets a lot more complicated. And awkward. Will Severus Snape be the only one able to help? Rated M for language and sexual content.





	1. Quidditch Practice

**A/N: Hi guys! This story centres around a 7th year Ravenclaw student, Róisín Feral.**

**Snape is 35 (so keep in mind he is much younger than he appears in the films).**

**Everything is the same as canon until Harry's fifth year (Sept 1995) which is when the story starts. It is rated Mature because there will be explicit scenes in future chapters.**

**Of course anything you recognise belongs to the inspiring J.K Rowling.**

_**Italics are Róisín's thoughts (or spoken incantations).** _

* * *

Róisín pressed her thighs together and shuddered. Roman Jacquet's broad back blocked her view of Professor McGonagall's wand movements at the top of the class. As he shifted in his seat she could see his back muscles tense and relax beneath his shirt. Exactly when had he become so muscular? Róisín shook her head, scowling, and focused on Professor McGonagall's transfiguration. The professor's incantations had moulded the apprehensive face of Martin Brown into the head of a hare. His long ears and whiskered cheeks twitched at the buzz of excitement from the class.

Róisín paired up with her best friend and attempted to transfigure her head into that of a foxes'. Her forehead creased in concentration as she failed to remember the incantation. She sighed.

"Anna, can you go first? I'm just not with it today."

Anna's shoulders slumped with relief as Róisín lowered her wand, which had been pointed directly at her face. Anna flicked her own wand and pronounced clearly,

" _Convertere faciem tempore vultus lucustas_ "

Róisín felt her skin angle and harden and her vision blur, she was seeing double, and then triple, then thousands of Anna's bright blue eyes flickering playfully.

McGonagall's stern voice reached Róisín as if through a tunnel,

"Miss Battworth, I highly doubt that Miss Feral had bewitched your ears off before I explicitly stated that  **mammalian**  heads were the desired outcome; this enchantment is ill-suited for invertebrates."

The spell started to wear off as the hundreds of stiff-backed professors morphed back into one.

"Pity it didn't last, green really is your colour," Anna teased.

* * *

As the two girls walked with the rest of the 7th year Ravenclaws to the Great Hall, Róisín whispered conspiratorially close to her friend's ear,

"Is it just me, or has Jacquet filled out  _nicely_  this year?" Anna eyes shot to heaven at her friend's remark."I know, I know, there's definitely something up with my hormones, but  **trust**  me, it's annoying me more than you."

The smell of shepherd's pie leaked from the hall down the corridor and Róisín's stomach gurgled in response.

Róisín spotted Ida at the Ravenclaw table, her ivory hair glinting in the daylight that poured from the bewitched ceiling. The 7th year students had private bedrooms and Ida had hers directly opposite Róisín's. Ida was reserved, sharp-witted and exceptionally good at potions. She had been seemingly unsure of Róisín's eccentricities for the past six years and had only begun to warm to her this year.

"After lunch Eóghan said he'd let me have a go on his Moontrimmer, do you guys wanna come?" Róisín asked Ida and Anna over the steaming dishes.

"Doesn't he have a Nimbus seventeen hundred?" Anna replied.

"Yeah he does, he bought the Moontrimmer at an auction. He says it's easy to control, so it should be good for me."

"I would like to but Ida and I have to write that herbology essay. The one on the importance of unicorn manure for the longevity of the giant white oak." Anna scowled to show her enthusiasm for the topic.

"Should have dropped herbology like me." Róisín winked at the other two girls.

"Oh shut up, at least  **we**  don't have to remember all of Jupiter's sixty-seven moons…"

Róisín stuck out her tongue in response.

* * *

Róisín met Eóghan on the way down from Ravenclaw tower. He was in a short-sleeved t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms with his Moontrimmer and Nimbus under his arm.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Awrite an ye?" Eóghan's Edinburgh brogue made Róisín smile; it made her less conscious of her own Dublin accent.

"Yeah, I'm grand. Thanks for flying with me again."

Róisín, having had a muggle childhood, had never gotten the hang of flying. Eóghan was muggle born too, but he, on the other hand, was the captain of the house team. Róisín helped him with his arithmancy in exchange for flying lessons.

"No problem, Ah think yer gettin' better." Eóghan's deep voice rolled over his "r", making Róisín's insides twitch a little. "Last time ye almost pulled off a Wronski Feint."

"Hey, stop slaggin' me, you  **know**  that was an accident," Róisín whined.

Eóghan's freckles scrunched up around his nose as he grinned at her.

The ground of the quidditch pitch was a patchwork quilt of autumn leaves and the hooped goal posts winked at them from the sky.

"Ok, let's try the Woollongong Shimmy. It's great fir practicin' balance." Eóghan threw her the Moontrimmer and mounted his Nimbus. Róisín could see his strong forearms flex as he grabbed his broom. "Zig-zag up and down the pitch. It's important tae remember to keep yer turns tight and yer centre of gravity close tae the broom. Ok?"

After an hour of practicing double eight loops, Mongolian trick flips and Beiriger barrel rolls Róisín was dizzy and exhausted. The two Ravenclaws descended from the sky. Eóghan jumped off his broom with finesse before he even touched the ground. Róisín landed with two much speed, tripped and fell forward. "Are you Ok?" Eóghan trotted over to her and helped her up.

"Yeah, just banged my arm." It twinged a little, but she was flushed mainly from embarrassment.

"Can I see?" Eóghan stepped towards Róisín as she held out her arm. She was close enough to catch his scent; A mix of synthetic freshness (after-shave and magical detergent probably) along with a delicious hint of male perspiration. She breathed in as Eóghan gently examined her hand. A thought struck her,  _Ogling your classmates is one thing, s_ _melling them is another._ Róisín stopped sniffing mid in-hale. "Did I hurt ye?" Eóghan asked in response.

"Oh, no, it's not painful, just a bruise." She could see his shoulder muscles from where the neck of his T-shirt dipped. They looked really good. He released her hand and grinned at her.  _The smile lines around his eyes are so sexy,_ Róisín thought sinfully. She shivered with the breeze.

"You're cold," Eóghan said softly. He rubbed his hands along the outsides of her arms and Róisín shifted her weight towards him. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips were cold in comparison to his, and she parted them slightly. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him against her. His arms encircled her and pressed tightly against her lower back. She could feel his solid body against hers. He kissed her bottom lip and then her top one. His breath, arms and chest were exquisitely warm.

She had started to kiss him back when nausea hit her stomach like a punch in the gut. She turned her face away and suddenly felt disgustingly hot. She pushed against his chest and he released her instantly, clearly confused. She held her sides as she doubled over.  _Oh god, I'm going to vomit._

"What's wrong? Did I-"

"No! I just suddenly feel… unwell. I'll go to Madam Pomfrey." Eóghan stared at her uncertainly, as if she had shape shifted into some bizarre creature. "Thanks again for the lesson," she sputtered before dashing towards the castle.

The nausea hit her in disgusting waves as she rushed through the hallways and the air felt moist as if she were in a rainforest. Finally she reached the hospital wing.

"I don't feel well."

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her examination of a student who appeared to have been hit with a well-aimed " _engorgio_ " to the nose. Róisín stood in front of her, dizzy and panting.

"Well I can see that." The matron looked Róisín up and down. "For goodness sake, lie down child before you faint."

Róisín climbed onto a spare cot and closed her eyes. The nausea had started to subside and her skin was no longer searing.  _What just happened? Did someone hex me from afar? What does Eóghan think?_

Madam Pomfrey deflated the other student's nose and turned to Róisín.

"Pupils fully dilated…high fever…tremors…confusion," the matron muttered to herself as she swished her wand in complicated patterns above Róisín.

"Miss Feral, you didn't get your hands on "Ethier's Excellent Exceeds-Expectations Elixir" did you?" The nurse's voice was stern. "I know it's stashed under the beds of the more recalcitrant members of Ravenclaw house. Even freshly brewed that potion overstimulates and overwhelms far more often than it leads to Outstandings."

"No Madam." Róisín shook her head vigorously. "I don't do drugs."

"Hmph" The matron did not seem fully convinced. "Well if that's the case, tell me what happened."

"Eóghan and I went out to practice our flying. When I landed I tripped and bruised my arm." Róisín indicated the small yellow bruise beginning to form on her arm. "Then a few minutes later I suddenly felt really, really sick, as if I were going to vomit, and I felt awfully hot as well." The lines on the matron's face were etched with concern.

"Nothing else unusual happened? You didn't see anyone else, or perform any strange spells? You and Mister MacCormack didn't try out any balance enhancing charms, or resisting wind resistance incantations?"

"No, I don't remember doing anything unusual. Except… well, it happened while we were kissing."

"Kissing?"

Róisín felt as though she needed to add something.

"Yeah, just on the lips."  _Where else would she think you were kissing?_ Róisín cringed.

The matron studied her carefully.

"And then you came here."

Róisín nodded.

"I'll bring you a vial of  _febribus regressus_  to cool you down. You may rest here for a couple of hours and resume your studies in the evening."

After Róisín had taken the potion she slipped into sleep.

* * *

That evening, Róisín met Anna half way up the spiral staircase to Ravenclaw tower.

"Hey, how come you weren't in Charms earlier?" Anna asked. Róisín told her what happened with Eóghan.

"That's weird," Anna commented.

"And the strangest thing is that I felt as if it were the kiss that made me sick, as if it weren't just a coincidence," Róisín added.

The staircase ended at a heavy walnut door carved with intricate spirals which appeared to move when you averted your eyes. In the middle of the door was a golden eagle knocker. It opened its beak and asked,

"What flies through the fun but drags through the dull?"

"Time," Anna answered.

The heavy door swung open and they stepped into the Ravenclaw common room. The airiness of the huge domed room always made an impression after climbing the hundreds of narrow steps to get to Hogwart's highest tower. Tall arched windows gave an almost three-sixty-degree view of the school grounds, and today the September sunshine shone through them making the white marble walls sparkle and the stars in the midnight blue carpet glisten underfoot. The permanent smell of books, ink and candles never failed to make Róisín feel at home.

"The riddles this week are easy, last week I was stuck for fifteen minutes until Ida let me in. You know my long division was never really any good," Anna said as she lay beside Róisín on their favourite  _chaise longue_ in an alcove with a fireplace.

Eóghan came down the stairs from one of the side turrets jutting off from the main Ravenclaw tower. There were turrets for the boys' and girls' dormitories, and for several tiny libraries which somehow held endless books. The libraries in the turrets had turrets of their own until Róisín was sure their centre of gravity was no longer over the base of the castle.

"Sorry about running off earlier Eóghan, I think I had some weird fever thing," Róisín explained.

"No problem, did Pomfrey sort you oot?"

"Yeah she gave me a potion."

Eóghan sat opposite the girls and gestured to a daily prophet lying on the coffee table between them.

"What do ye think of all this?"

The front cover had printed "Why does Dumbledore hunger for war?" in thick black font accompanied by a moving picture of their headmaster striding confidently through the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

"Well, my parents have always been staunch supporters of Dumbledore, but it's hard to believe that all of the wizarding media and the ministry are conspiring against him, just because Fudge is insecure," Anna said. She was pureblood and had grown up listening to the politics of the wizarding world.

"Never underestimate the lunacy of a powerful, insecure man," Róisín said.

"So, you think Fudge is lying and Dumbledore's not?" Eóghan asked, "that's not a popular opinion these days."

"Would he really pretend you-know-who were back just for a power grab? Surely that plan would break down as soon as people realised he wasn't actually back?" Róisín shrugged and continued somberly, "I haven't read too much about the previous rise of you-know-who, but I get the impression that if he's back, we'll know soon enough."

"Although, all the stuff with Dumbledore and Potter is weird, right?" Anna cut in. "Remember when he was in first year, Potter saved the school from Quirrell, and then from the Basilisk? And last year he won the Triwizard Tournament and faced you-know-who  _again._ I grew up believing Dumbledore was the most brilliant wizard in the world, yet we are always saved by the same preteen boy, with Dumbledore nowhere to be seen!"

* * *

That night Róisín twisted herself into a knot around her bedsheets. Worries swarmed around her head like ugly summer flies. She was stressed because it was late and she couldn't sleep, even though Eóghan, Anna and herself had stayed up late discussing the public feud between Dumbledore and Fudge. The magic she performed in class had become erratic, which was unsettling because she was usually an exceptionally precise witch and excellent student. For example, the other day Flitwick presented each of them with a life-sized statue and asked them to charm the statue to dance a basic Waltz. Róisín's statue, however, danced a kind of aggressive and erotic tango with her, even though she had used Flitwick's incantation precisely, or at least she thought she had, maybe she had been distracted. That was another problem; she felt uncomfortably horny at random times throughout the day, and even though she climaxed by herself before falling asleep most nights, it didn't seem to take the edge off. She also had no idea what had happened today with Eóghan. And finally, she was more than a little concerned that the magical world she loved would be ripped apart by an evil mastermind.

* * *

**A/N: Róisín is from Dublin, so sometimes she uses Irish expressions (Translations below).**

"I'm grand" - Irish people use "grand" for "I'm fine"

"Stop slaggin' me" – to "slag" someone is to make fun of/ tease them


	2. Effunde Naturae

The students stilled as Professor Snape swept into the potions classroom, his inky robes rippling behind him.

"The fabled  _Effunde Naturae_  is an ancient brew that originates from the stone ages. However, recent advances in the field have made it considerably more potent. As all of you managed to scrape your way into my NEWTS potion class." Snape's face twisted as he examined the youth in front of him. "You should be aware of its effects."

His charcoal eyes landed on his victim.

"Mister Atkinson, enlighten us."

"Emm, doesn't it affect the drinker by exaggerating their personality?"

"A point from Ravenclaw, for your inelegant response."

Róisín glanced at her potions partner, Ida, as her eyes flew to heaven.

"Effunde Naturae does not enhance the drinker's  _entire_  personality, but rather selects that aspect of the personality which is most dominant. This chosen trait is amplified by the brew, until it eclipses the remaining elements of their character."

Snape's eyes swept over the students. Abruptly, the textbooks flew to page 213 and animated chalk began to scrape Snape's pointy scroll on the blackboard. "You have three hours. Begin."

Two hours later the cauldrons were simmering away and the shimmering fumes were sailing around the room. The aura of sweet wild garlic mingling with fresh mint made Róisín's stomach twist uneasily. Ida, a natural brewer, had taken charge and had delegated the more mundane tasks to Róisín.

Róisin's eyes wandered around the room as her hands deshelled the almonds. The dungeon air was thick with steam. She noticed that Zoltan Kun had shrugged off his Slytherin robe and that his shirt fit him perfectly. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. Róisín's eyes glazed as she watched a bead of perspiration drip down Zoltan's prominent Adam's apple.

Suddenly, Snape's silky voice cut through her haze.

"Miss Feral, if you are finished admiring Mister Kun's musculature," Snape paused, allowing his words to have their maximum impact, "then I suggest that you  _fully_  partake in this class. If you continue to allow the students of my house such power of distraction over you, I will be forced to throw you from the NEWTS course."

The shame seared through her as if Snape had doused her in petrol and set her alight. She froze. Snickers punctured the painful silence.

Zoltan grinned bashfully as his partner elbowed him.

Róisín slowly turned to Ida. A touch of second hand embarrassment painted Ida's cheeks but her green eyes looked sympathetic. She thrust a vial of measured squid ink into Róisin's hands for her to pour. The black liquid hissed as it came in contact with the bubbling potion.

Ida turned to the next page of the textbook, clearly trying to pretend that nothing had happened.

"Ok, step thirty, when the salmon pink changes to lime green, add a drop of the drinker's blood. Would you like to do the honours?"

Róisín conjured a needle and pricked her finger above the cauldron. The red of the small drop of blood spread out to stain the entire potion a deep ruby colour.

Ida flipped to the next page which contained a long list of colours with a character trait beside each one. Róisín skimmed over it, her heart still throbbing from embarrassment. "Aquamarine – optimism, Bronze – bravery, Cobalt – acuity… Lime – greed, Plum – pride… Ruby – lust"

Róisín snapped her head back to the potion whispering beside her. The ruby brew glistened, mocking her.  _Oh fuck!_ A myriad of colours winked back at her from the other cauldrons around the room, but there wasn't a smidgen of ruby in any of them.

The rest of the class were humming with excitement as the students discussed their peers' colours. Róisín hovered over her potion, trying to conceal its contents.

The lump in her throat throbbed painfully. She bottled a vial of the potion with trembling hands as her vision swam back and forth.  _Please God don't let anyone notice._

"It's not so bad, you could be Pucey. He has sienna for violence. Although are we even surprised? Did you  _see_  him clobber Wood off his broom last match?" Ida spoke softly to Róisín, trying to comfort her before she dissolved into histrionics. "Look,  _relax,_ I'll put the vial in the basket at Snape's desk, he won't even know whose blood we used," Ida continued as she labelled their vial. It clinked when she placed it next to the other multi-coloured bottles on Snape's desk. The potions master looked up from the papers he was grading to glance at the basket. His bored expression disappeared as his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Miss Evrard, whose blood did you use?"

Ida hesitated.

"Róisín's sir"

She braced herself for a snide comment but Snape simply resumed his grading.

* * *

Róisín questioned Ida as they hurried from the dungeons up to Ravenclaw tower.

"So he didn't reply at all?"

"No, he just ignored me. I really don't think he cared, I'm sure he sees all sorts of unusual traits every year."

Róisín let out a little moan of frustration and hoped that were the case.


	3. The Hospital Wing

Eóghan rushed panting into the hospital wing, carrying Róisín's limp form. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey looked up from the potions they were discussing. The matron was struck by how tiny and vulnerable Miss Feral appeared cradled against McCormack's broad chest. Eóghan laid Róisín gently onto a cot as the nurse hurried towards them.

"Ah don't know what happened… one minute she was fine, the next she was hot and shaking and then she… she fainted," Eóghan stuttered.

"Where were you? Did she collapse?" Madam Pomfrey asked urgently.

Eóghan rubbed his face roughly with one large hand. "Uh… well no, cus she was lyin' down."

"Where?" The matron pressed.

"On my bed." Eóghan grimaced and looked away. He knew it sounded bad. There was silence as Madam Pomfrey appraised the flushed and sweaty girl lying unconscious in front of her.

"Mister McCormack, look at me." Madam Pomfrey tone was low and serious. "I will have no reason to believe something untoward occurred unless you refuse to tell us this instant  **exactly** what happened."

"Em… well we were…kissin' in my room..."

The matron continued to listen while crouched over Róisín, whispering charms. The potions professor had his razor sharp gaze fixed on Eóghan, his features laced with suspicion. Eóghan started to sweat.

"Did anything about Miss Feral seem odd at this stage?" Snape's voice was smooth, like a snake unwinding carefully, preparing to strike.

"Em… Ah suppose she was a wee bit warm, and em... panting a little, but I thought that was because she was… I thought it was natural, given the situation."

"So in your arrogance you chose to believe that her symptoms were simply… a manifestation of her desire?"

"No, Ah didn't  **choose**  tae believe anythin', Ah just didn't realise that-"

"Watch your tone McCormack," Snape spat.

Eóghan took in a sharp breath and ran his hands through his unruly hair.

"I've placed a cooling charm on her and slowed her heartbeat." The nurse's voice cut through the tension as she herded the two men away from the bed. "The most important thing now is that she rest. Mister McCormack, this is not the first time Miss Feral has ended up in my wing after liaising with you. It is of utmost importance that you tell us exactly what happened before she lost consciousness."

Eóghan sighed. "She was helping me with an arithmancy assignment, and then uh… we started kissing. I was on top of her… kissing her neck.. and she was uh… moanin' I suppose and grabbing my sides."

"Did you get her consent before engaging in such activities?" Snape's voice was icy.

"Of course I did," Eóghan replied indignantly.

"Her voiced consent?"

"She never said no."

"She shouldn't have to," Snape snarled.

" _She_  climbed onto  _my_  bed."

"So this is her fault."

"What? No - I didn't say that."

Madam Pomfrey could smell the testosterone in the air. She didn't believe that this was McCormack's fault, or that he had taken liberties with Feral; however they needed answers if they were to find out what was wrong with the poor girl.

"When exactly did she lose consciousness?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Uh… I'm not sure," Eóghan muttered.

"What do you mean… you're  _not_   _sure,"_ Snape sneered.

"Well, at that point I wasn't focused on her face."

"You said you were kissing her."

"I was kissing her elsewhere," Eóghan bit back in frustration.

"Thirty points from Ravenclaw for blatant disregard for the wellbeing of your peer."

"How is giving a girl head, disregard for her wellbeing?" Eóghan shouted incredulously.

"Another ten for vulgar language," Snape retorted.

"What the f-"

"Enough!" Eóghan's curse was cut short by Madam Pomfrey. "Mister McCormack, please retire to your room. You may visit Miss Feral in the morning."

"But I should stay with her."

"Nonsense, she will be perfectly fine in my care."

Eóghan's body was coiled in anger as he left the hospital wing. After he was gone the matron turned to the potions professor.

"Severus, was it entirely necessary to interrogate the boy like a criminal? They  _are_  both of age."

Snape ignored her question, his back rigid.

"You said this was not the first time she had been ill after being with McCormack?"

Pomfrey sighed and nodded. "Towards the end of October she came to me herself. She had similar symptoms although they were less severe; fever, panting etcetera, and obviously she was conscious. She told me she had been kissing McCormack on the quidditch pitch when she was hit with a bout of extreme nausea and rushed here."

Snape's brow furrowed in thought.

"Her  _effunde naturae_  potion was ruby," he stated.

"And that means?" Snape raised his eyebrows in response. "Severus, not all of us have the one hundred or so colours and traits at the top of our heads."

"One hundred and twenty-one is the number of possible traits, at least that we know of. Ruby signifies lust."

"Oh." Madam Pomfrey frowned in consideration. "Is a ruby  _effunde_  brew unusual?"

"I had never before encountered it in all my years of teaching. Although there are other possible colours I have never seen, such as salmon pink for obedience."

Snape sighed as if this did not surprise him.

"Do you think it has some significance in regards to Miss Feral's condition?"

"I don't know. It appears that both times she has been ill it was the result of engaging in sexual behaviour," Snape mused. "Has she had any other issues this year?"

"Well she came to me at the beginning of October because she was suffering from menstrual cramping. I gave her some pain relieving potions. It's not a very unusual complaint, a couple of girls come to me with the issue every month."

Snape frowned in thought and began to list the symptoms,

"A ruby  _effunde_ , painful menstrual periods, fever and nausea when engaging in sexual behaviour-"

"That's not necessarily the case; she could engage plenty and feel no effects, maybe it only occurs with McCormack."

Snape raised his eyebrows, he hadn't considered that.

"I'll take a sexual history from her tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey continued. "And then we can figure out what's wrong with the poor girl."

* * *

**A/N It would make my day if you reviewed :D**


	4. Madam Pomfrey's Unfortunate Decree

**A/N Thanks to everyone for sticking with the story.**

* * *

Róisín woke. She rubbed her dry eyes and grimaced as she realised her messy hair was sticking to her sweaty forehead. She reached out, but she could not find her thin hawthorn wand. She wasn't in her room. Looking around the hospital wing she tried to remember why she was here. Then it dawned on her _; something happened with Eóghan last night._

Over the past month, she had spent a lot of time with the Scotsman. She practiced flying with him often, and she had partnered with him to do their Care of Magical Creatures assignment, for which each group had to monitor one of the new-born thestral foals. As a group, they had the advantage that Eóghan could see the thestrals, unlike Róisín and most of the class. They had named the foal they were assigned "Bumbly" because Eóghan had assured her he was a lot clumsier than his peers.

They had kissed once. It happened when they were alone in one of the Ravenclaw mini libraries, supposedly studying. It ended abruptly when a first year stumbled into the room. Róisín felt uneasy during the brief kiss. However, she thought it was because she was nervous, and nothing to do with whatever had happened a month before on the Quidditch pitch, of which neither of them had spoken.

Last night Róisín had gone to Eóghan's room to work on an Arithmancy assignment. While she leaned closer to him, pointing out a mistake in a calculation, he had placed his hand on her thigh. She recalled how the light from the candles played with the angles of his face, and made his naturally heartfelt smile appear even warmer. Róisín had turned towards him and he had kissed her, sliding his hand higher up her skirt. Róisín sighed as she remembered moving from his desk to his bed, clutching his t-shirt and pulling him on top of her. He had kissed down her body above her clothes. She had shivered in naive excitement. It was her first time on a guy's bed. She blushed as she recalled how she had felt too warm and panted, like a dog locked in a hot car.

Then her memory became hazy. She vaguely remembered Eóghan lifting her skirt but could recall nothing more.  _Did he bewitch me?_

Róisín shook her head at her thoughts, Eóghan would never do that. So why couldn't she fool around with a guy like any other eighteen-year-old could? Why did it have such a strange effect on her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey hurrying into the hospital wing, her arm wrapped around a crying first year. Professor McGonagall followed swiftly behind. They brought the boy to the far end of the wing. Róisín heard them murmur softly to him. Pomfrey left the boy with McGonagall and approached Róisín. She noticed that Pomfrey's normal bustling stride was gone, replaced with tired movements as if the air around her had grown heavy.

"That poor, poor boy," the matron muttered, her expression wilted. " _What_ is happening to our world?"

Róisín sent her a puzzled look.

"Oh, of course, you haven't heard! There was an attack on that poor boy's family and his muggle father was killed."

"By who?" Róisín asked in shock.

"Well,  _you-know-who,_ of course! Not him directly, I'm sure, but his supporters following  _his_  orders, although I'll transfigure my arm into a pumpkin if the daily prophet mentions  _him_ this morning, oh no, they'll say it was a random barbaric act, or worse, an accident!"

"Why were they attacked?"

"His mother is an unspeakable, she worked in the department for the Study and Protection against Bedevilled-

"-and Blighted Magical Artefacts," Róisín finished for her. "I did an internship there last year-" Her eyes widened. "Merlin, she isn't Professor Smith, is she?"

"Yes, did you work with her?"

"Yes, well, I couldn't do much work, considering how obsessed the unspeakables are with secrecy, but she mentioned her husband a few times." Róisín's stomach sank like a ship in a bottomless sea. "She spoke so lovingly of him."

There was a pause while both witches contemplated the young boy's loss.

"So, it was because of her job?" Róisín questioned.

"We don't know, could be, or because she married a muggle, however, I am not here to discuss the torrid state of affairs of our world, I have to ask you about last night."

Róisín's cheeks went hot as if her freckled skin had spent too long in summer sunlight. The matron pressed on,

"I know you are of age, and it's embarrassing to discuss with an old woman like me, but you have come here  _twice_  now after being with Mister McCormack, and last night you were in a  _most_  serious condition."

Pomfrey explained to Róisín what Eóghan had told herself and Professor Snape. Róisín felt her throat tighten at the mention of the Slytherin head. Pomfrey continued,

"He said the reason he didn't notice you were unconscious earlier was he was about to…" The matron paused, uncharacteristically hesitant, "…perform oral sex and momentarily didn't notice that you had passed out."

Róisín choked on her own breath.

After regaining her composure, she managed to mumble her own memory of last night.

"Have you engaged in similar activities with other boys before?" Pomfrey asked clinically.

"No, nothing like  _that_ , just a few kisses when I was younger."

"Witches and wizards can exhibit all sorts of peculiar magical reactions when they make the transition into adulthood," Pomfrey assured Róisín. "Sometimes their control of their magic can be affected, or they may feel unwell due to unknown reasons but normally the issue fades with time."

Pomfrey paused and scrutinised Róisín, as if the cause of her illness were written somewhere on her person. Róisín awkwardly wrapped her arms around her small frame.

"Miss Feral, I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from engaging in any sexual behaviour with Mister McCormack or anyone else for a while." Róisín nodded. "Hopefully we'll figure out whatever enchantment or magical allergic reaction you're under soon, and then you can run back into Romeo's arms." Pomfrey winked at her.

"Magical allergic reaction?"

"Oh yes, you could have interacted with some enchanted object that didn't sit well with you, it happens every so often, but there are usually remedies, don't you worry."

* * *

Later that day Róisín collapsed onto a couch next to Ida and Anna in the Ravenclaw common room. She had spent the past twenty minutes reasoning through a particularly long winded logic quiz involving a dragon egg, hippogriff, goblin, centaur, a river to cross and a single broom.

"I know the golden eagle riddles are ingenious and everything, but sometimes I think it seriously effects the productivity of us Ravenclaw students," Róisín complained to her friends. "I get that the hippogriff could smell a disillusioned dragon egg, but the goblin, really?"

"Well, we need some way to keep the brainless riff-raff from the inferior houses out, don't we?" Anna asked mockingly.

"Yes, because there is  _no_ other way to achieve that, oh wait, what about…  _passwords,"_  Róisín replied indignantly.

"That eagle was enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, one  _thousand_ years ago, you should show some respect," Ida muttered from between the pages of her "Transfiguration Perfection" textbook.

"Respect! That thing has been wasting the precious study time of our house's students for a  _thousand_ years!" Róisín joked and raised her eyebrows to Anna, as Ida huffed and continued reading. Róisín made a habit of pointing out the inefficiencies of the wizarding world, especially if she thought it would lure Ida out of a book and into one of their high-spirited debates.

After a magical pinky-promise in which her friends assured her that they wouldn't tell anyone about her embarrassing problem, Róisín told them everything that had happened with Eóghan. The pinky-promise spell was one Róisín had used to great effect through-out many years of teenage drama. If the promise were broken, her little finger would tingle. Afterwards she went to find Eóghan to tell him Madam Pomfrey's unfortunate decree.


	5. Nighttime Cramps

Róisín woke slick with sweat. Her insides ached. She clutched her abdomen and curled into a foetal position. She pressed her fingers against her crotch hoping to relieve the throbbing in her labia. Dragging herself to her feet, she stumbled into the bathroom. She stuck a bulky night-time pad onto her underwear and collapsed back onto her bed. She huffed when she realised that blood had somehow managed to escape her pad and stain the bedclothes.

Róisín had gone to Madam Pomfrey after her first two periods at Hogwarts this year, both of which had been intolerable. The matron had been very understanding and had given her enough pain relieving potion for a couple of months, or so she had claimed, Róisín had somehow taken all the pain reliever just to get through a single period. Now she had none left for this month. Her face burned at the thought of having to ask the nurse for more. Would she think she was addicted to the potion now? Was she? She groaned at the idea of a drug problem on top of her strange bouts of wooziness and her libido running amok.

Her eyes were squeezed so tightly shut it felt as though they would pop from their sockets. A fierce hatred for her own body bubbled through her and a sob shook her at the realisation that she was out of options. It appeared that once a month her hormones took a break from making her unbearably horny just to encourage her womb to claw itself to shreds. The pain in her head pulsated like a living thing, an enraged animal trying to escape the confines of her skull. Why did it hurt so much? How weak must she be for her period to cripple her, when other women barely noticed it?

A hesitant rap of the door was followed by Ida's uncertain voice,

"Róisín, is everything OK?"

Grimacing in embarrassment, Róisín managed to spit out,

"Just…not feeling well."

"Oh, is there anything I can-"

"No, no, I'll be OK – Sorry for waking you."

"Listen, you really don't sound OK, may I come in?"

Róisín strained to make her voice sound natural,

"Sure"

Ida's eyes widened while she took in Róisín's shivering form.

"OK, I'm bringing you to-"

"No, honestly, I'll be fine, it's just my period."

"Can you walk? Or will I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"Em..." Róisín let out an involuntary groan as she shifted her weight onto wobbly feet. The edges of her vision blackened as she straightened.

"Lie back down before you faint, I'm getting Pomfrey," Ida asserted.

* * *

Ida cast a quickening charm on her feet as she hurried through the castle. Anxiety nibbled at her chest as the torch flames flickered, licking the tall stone walls. Suddenly she noticed a black shape gliding towards her. Choking back a scream, Ida's wand hand shot up.

"Miss Evrard, enlighten me as to why you are wandering the corridor at such an ungodly hour… apparently looking for a duel."

Snape eyes looked pointedly at Ida's wand.

She lowered her wand as her words stumbled out.

"Apologies Professor, Miss Feral's not well, I have to find Madam Pomfrey."

"Tell me what illness has befallen Miss Feral that she is incapable of finding the matron herself."

Ida blushed and averted her eyes.

"It's her period."

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"I know it doesn't sound serious, but she's in a lot of pain, I didn't know what to do."

His gaze swept over Ida's quivering form. Abruptly he turned as a sliver shape poured from his wand and dashed around the corner towards the hospital wing.

"Take me to her," he ordered.

As they ascended the stairs towards Róisín's room, it struck Ida that her biggest legacy at Hogwarts would be as the Ravenclaw who lead the Slytherin head of house into their private sanctuary.  _Róisín is going to kill me._

Ida knocked on Róisín's door. She was acutely aware of Snape looming behind her.

"May we come in?"

"Did you get Pomfrey?" came Róisín's soft voice.

"Em… not  _exactly_ "

Snape moved past Ida and opened the door.

Róisín scrambled back on her bed as her face shot towards the potions master. He stood in her messy bedroom, scrutinizing her, a poster of Johnny Depp on the wall behind him and her dirty clothes and girly toiletries littering the floor beneath him. She felt intensely vulnerable under his glare.  _Why is he here?_ His eyes flickered momentarily towards her stained bedclothes. The almost imperceptible shift in his gaze pushed Róisín over the edge. She gasped for breath as her emotions ripped through her; embarrassment, confusion, pain.

"Miss Feral, there is no need to panic," Snape said slowly, with a look that implied her histrionics irritated him. "I will not harm you. Madam Pomfrey is on her way."

He moved to the side of her bed. Róisín kept her eyes trained at his chin as he towered above her.

"Lie on your back and straighten your body."

Róisín obeyed, her face throbbing red with shame.

Snape drew his wand and muttered " _Ostendolor_ " as he placed his elegant black wand against Róisín's forehead and lightly dragged it down her body. Past her nose, her lips, her chin, her neck, between her breasts and past her stomach. The feeling of the tip being pressed against her skin with such precise pressure was strange. Her breath caught as she thought he would drag it over her privates. Just after the beginning of the slope of her pubis he changed course and drew a precise line down her left leg.

Ida watched as Róisín's body glowed through her thin pyjamas. Her groin, lower abdomen, and head burned red. Her breasts were a deep orange. The rest of Róisín's body was lit with varying shades of yellows, greens and blues. Ida was privately relieved it wasn't her own braless body that Snape was inspecting.

"Professor, what did you do?" Ida tentatively asked.

"I performed a spell that reveals the subject's pain in the form of a heat map."

Madam Pomfrey scurried into the room, shooing Ida away from the bed. She peered over Róisín, her forehead creased and lips pinched. She didn't pause in her appraisal as she spoke,

"Miss Evrard, I appreciate you informing us of Miss Feral's condition, but now it is time for you to get some sleep."

Ida slipped out of the door and away from the peculiar scene.

* * *

"I will return with  _ciclo consolatio_ and blood replenishing potion," Snape muttered as he left the room.

Pomfrey began to sing an incantation in a language Róisín did not recognise. The young Ravenclaw closed her eyes in relief as the soft, sweet tones soothed the pain in her centre, like ice-cream over a badly-burnt tongue.

Snape returned with two vials, one the colour of fresh blood and the other a swirl of baby pinks and sky blues.

Róisín sat up as he thrust the red vial into her hand.

"Drink it  _all,_ " he ordered.

Róisín's stomach contracted in disgust as she gulped down the thick, coppery liquid as quickly as she could.

" _Ciclo consolatio_ will ease the discomforts associated with menstruation." Snape held up the other vial. "However, because of its side effects, I advise you to take one spoonful only." With a click of his fingers a spoon materialized, hovering in front of her. He handed her the vial.

Róisín eyes flickered awkwardly around the potions master's impassive face as she waited for him to explain the side effects.

"Sometime today Miss Feral, it is not my intention to spend all night in your bedchambers." He indicated the vial Róisín held gingerly. Róisín stuttered,

"S-side effects sir?"

Snape glanced at Madam Pomfrey, who was sorting through a bag of supplies she had brought. Róisín saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.

"The way this brew interacts with your hormones may cause you to feel unusually  _licentious."_

"Oh" Róisín scrunched her brow, trying to remember the meaning of the antiquated word. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Meaning that this brew is known to induce lascivious thoughts."

Róisín frowned as she tried to digest the information.

"Bloody hell," Snape grunted. "It  _means_ it'll make you rand-"

"-I  _know_ what it means," Róisín spat.

Pomfrey's head snapped up from the notebook she was writing in. She had never heard a student talk back to the head of Slytherin.

Snape peered down his long, hooked nose at Róisín, who dropped her eyes to her lap and gritted her teeth, bracing herself for a scathing retort.

"Half a spoon might be more prudent, as there is reason to believe you will prove  _especially_  susceptible to the effect," he sneered.

Róisín's room wobbled as tears filled her eyes. She didn't know if he was referring to her  _effunde_ brew, or what had transpired with Eóghan, or both. She shoved the rising sob back down her throat and held the potion back to her professor.

"Em… I would prefer not to take it… if that's OK." She looked anxiously at Madam Pomfrey for support.

"Of course dear, I'll leave you with some of our standard pain-relieving potion."

Snape looked at her as if she were a curious specimen he wanted to dissect as he took the vial from her hand. His lips curled over his uneven teeth as he spoke,

"Naturally a Ravenclaw would refuse anything that may tamper with their precious intellect."

Then he left with the abrupt movements of a spider, pausing only to acknowledge the matron with a brief incline of his head.

Róisín sagged against her headboard as she let out a long sigh of relief.

"Don't worry about your professor," Pomfrey advised her. "He is much too busy to think twice about anything that might embarrass you."

"Thank you, ma'am, for looking after me. I'm sorry I've been such a bother recently, taking you from your bed in the dead of night."

"Miss Feral, I did not accept this position as nurse of Hogwarts, home of one thousand students, expecting uninterrupted sleep," the matron assured her. "Now in regards to your symptoms, sometimes young women experience painful menstrual cramping for a year or so, but it normally ameliorates as they grow older. I've left you some potions and instructions, and I would like you to visit me next month and let me know if you have the same issue."

Madam Pomfrey patted Róisín on the shoulder as she turned to leave.

"Good night, Miss Feral"

"Good night, ma'am"

Róisín felt light with relief now that the pain was gone. She snuggled deep into her covers and drifted through her dreams like a cloud meandering over mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate it if you left a review, even if you want to tear it apart! 
> 
> If you are liking the story so far then you can find the next ten chapters on fanfiction.net at: 
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12329179/1/The-Stirring


	6. The Mutafidus Curse

"It was  _mor_ tifying." Róisín dragged the word into a low groan. "Professor Snape, in my room - and you guys know how messy my room is – and me just gaping at him like a complete eejit."

Anna stifled a snort and Róisín gave her a light smack on the arm.

"It is  **not**  funny."

" _That_  is a matter of opinion," Anna teased.

"And you!" Róisín turned to Ida. "How could you bring him to my room, you traitor!"

"What did you expect me to do? Say no to  _Professor Snape,_ duel him in the corridor?" Ida responded incredulously.

"Yes, that's what  _friends_ do," Róisín said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Ha! You wouldn't talk back to Snape to save me from the  _cruciatus,_ " Anna scoffed.

Róisín laughed. "You're right there. But I expect higher standards of my friends."

The three girls hurried through the castle towards the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom.

"I don't think I can emphasise enough just how messy my room was!" Róisín began again.

"Stop fretting about it. It could have been worse. Did you hear that last year he caught a seventh year Hufflepuff giving head in the fifth-floor bathroom?" Anna snickered. "Can you  _imagine_?"

Róisín barely heard her. "And I was in my pyjamas, with no bra, and my sheets were stained, and it was so heavy….. Oh God, do you think he could  _smell_ it?"

Anna tipped back her head and let out a bark of laughter, her dark chocolate locks swinging with the movement.

"Well, he is known for his acute potions master's nose," Ida said and winked at Anna. "Last year he knew Martin used pumpkin seeds instead of apple in his  _dracotabus_  antidote just by the smell."

"Oh, shut up," Róisín shot her friends a fake scowl.

* * *

"Today we will practice resisting the  _mutafidus_  curse," Professor Lupin began, "as the few of you who actually did their reading assignments will know, the  _mutafidus_  can be used to influence the loyalties of your opponent."

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the class. The  _mutafidus_  curse was in the same family of spells as the  _imperius_.

"Can anyone tell me how it achieves this?" their professor asked.

"The  _mutafidus_  changes the victim's feelings towards the caster. It makes them empathise with their attacker," Anna answered.

"Correct Miss Bathworth." Anna's pretty cheeks rounded with her smile. "The degree of manipulation depends on the strength of the casting. It can range from subtle feelings of misgiving over causing harm to the caster, to feelings of intense respect and admiration towards them. So… what are the typical outcomes when it's employed in a duel?"

Anna answered again,

"It can vary, sometimes the victim continues attacking the caster with lessened enthusiasm, other times they will cease their actions altogether. In rare cases the victim may even turn on their allies." Róisín and Ida raised their eyebrows to each other in response to Anna's prompt answer. Anna always prepared thoroughly for their Defence against the Dark Arts classes. Although her friends knew that she aspired to be an auror, they thought that a crush on a certain professor may contribute to her passion for the subject.

Professor Lupin smiled warmly. "Correct again Miss Bathworth."

"He  **so**  knows," Róisín whispered. Anna walloped her with her knee beneath the desk.

"I have asked Professor Snape to lend us his expertise for today's lesson, as he is particularly adept at the  _mutafidus_."

Róisín's head shot up at the mention of the potion's master.

"I bet he is. There's not a dark curse he can't do," Róisín heard a Gryffindor mutter.

Lupin gestured for the students to leave their seats. The desks and chairs clattered as he stacked them along the side of the room with a few flicks of his wand. The light from the tall thin windows lit slices of the air, in which the dust motes drifted, and made a striped pattern on the floor of the newly cleared space. A colossal dragon skeleton hung above as if waiting to judge their fighting skills, its serrated teeth exaggerated by its lack of flesh.

"Ah Professor Snape, thanks for coming." Róisín swung around at Lupin's greeting.

Snape stood at the back of the room like a dark spectre. The students hadn't noticed him enter.

"My pleasure," he drawled. Lupin ignored his sarcasm.

"Ok, please form groups of three. Each group will attempt to disarm either myself or Professor Snape. You may, and in fact I encourage you, to use the whole range of defensive spells we have covered thus far."

Looks of surprise bounced around the students.

"In terms of offensive spells, please limit yourselves to those which are unlikely to cause grievous bodily harm. Professor Snape and I will, obviously, show restraint." The glance Lupin shot Snape hinted at his uncertainty that this was obvious to the both of them.

Lupin instructed the students to line up into two rows in their groups. Each group would take turns to duel one of the professors.

"During these duels, Professor Snape and I will attempt to use the  _mutafidus_  to lessen your resolve. When you feel our influence on your mind, attempt to recognise it as foreign, isolate it, and ignore it."

The students swarmed into a line in front of Lupin. Only one group of Gryffindors, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, stood defiantly in front of Snape. They huddled together to strategize in urgent whispers. Snape looked entirely unperturbed. Lupin sighed.

"Could the last two groups of my line join Professor Snape's? I have complete confidence that you will leave here intact."

Ida, Róisín and Anna, and another Gryffindor group, reluctantly lined up behind the Weasleys.

"OK, why don't our foolhardy Gryffindors go first."

The rest of the class backed away. The Gryffindors in question stood in a classic duel stance with their wands trained at Snape's chest. Snape let his wand slide into his hand, but barely changed his posture. The three students bowed slowly, their eyes not leaving their target. Snape inclined his head in response.

"Begin-"

"MELOFORS-"

"STUPEFY-"

"CANTIO-"

The Gryffindors' curses bolted towards Snape before the second syllable of "begin" had left Lupin's mouth. Snape's wand moved in a blur and the curses rebounded off an invisible shield with three thuds and a flash of colours. His opponents were knocked backward. The orange spark from the  _melofors_  jinx hit one of the twins in the gut and a pumpkin popped onto his shoulders, encasing his head. The other twin was flung into the air by his ankle with a silent  _levicorpus_. Jordan's  _verdimillious_  charm missed its mark and green sparks exploded where it hit the top of the blackboard.

" _E-Expell-_ "

" _ **Mutafidus**_ " Jordan's hesitant disarming charm was smothered by Snape's first verbal command. Róisín shivered at the confidence with which the syllables slithered from her professor.

Snape lazily deflected two badly-aimed curses from the incapacitated twins and stepped towards Jordan.

Jordan mumbled " _Expelli_..." but then stopped, seemingly unsure. He glanced between his friends and Snape with a strained look on his face. Just as the Weasley encased by the pumpkin managed to crack the vegetable and free his head Snape stupefied him. The other shouted at Jordan to disarm Snape and continued trying to cast stuns upside down. Jordan ignored his requests.

An unpleasant feeling twisted Róisín's gut as Jordan slowly turned away from Snape and pointed his wand at the Weasley suspended in the air.

"What are you-?" The twin protested but was cut off by Jordan's low voice,

" _Expelliarmus_ "

Weasley's wand flew from his hand and landed with a clatter on the stone floor.

Jordan stood in front of Snape, like a guard dog.

" _Finite Incantatem"_

At Snape's words a look of confusion crossed Jordan. One twin fell to the floor while the other clambered to his feet from where he had been lying stupefied.

The students were still. Róisín could taste in the air the collective awe and disquiet at Snape's duelling prowess.

"I knew we could expect no less than an excellent demonstration from our potion's master," Lupin praised.

"Well, if it had occurred to even  _one_  of your three students to perform a shield charm then the defeat may not have been so abrupt," Snape sneered.

"Yes… still it was a gallant effort boys." Lupin smiled at the deflated trio. "Your timing was a fraction off, so the use of a non-verbal would have been advantageous, but well done none the less. Ten points to Gryffindor for being the first to bravely confront Professor Snape."

Snape threw his eyes to heaven as Lupin grinned at the boys.

"Mister Jordan, could you explain to your peers how it felt to be under the influence of the  _mutafidus_?"

Jordan looked between Snape and the Weasley twins as if trying to figure out what had happened. He scratched his forehead.

"Eh… I dunno really, at the beginning I felt this surge of… respect for the professor, and I still tried to use  _expelliarmus_ , although I didn't really,  _want_ it to work." Jordan's cheeks tinged red as he looked apologetically at the Weasleys. "And then… well I just felt like I should protect him, I had this overwhelming sense that it was… the  _right_ thing to do, I suppose that's why I disarmed Fred."

Lupin addressed the class.

"Try to banish any sudden urges to "protect" your opponent, especially if you hear the  _mutafidus_  being cast."

A rumble spread through the classroom as the students began to steel themselves for their turn. Anna turned to Róisín and Ida with a look of determination.

"Ok, tactics… Ida, you have the best shield in our year, can you cast a  _protego amicis_  around the three of us the instant the duel begins?" Ida gave her a quick nod. "I'm the quickest, so I'll use  _equiperture_  to knock off his balance as fast as I can. Róisín, you try to disarm him. Any objections?"

Ida and Róisín shook their heads. Róisín whispered,

"Don't worry, we'll try not to make you look bad in front of your  _favourite_ professor."

"You better not," Anna said darkly.

The next group, a trio of Ravenclaws, stepped forward to duel Lupin. Moments later two of the students were disarmed while the other was under the  _mutafidus_. The bewitched student had stopped fighting, although he did not turn on his peers like Jordan had.

Róisín had believed that there were a few excellent duellers in their year, Anna being one of them, however she was amazed at the huge gulf in skill between her fellow students and her teachers.

Róisín, Ida and Anna stepped towards Snape.

"And next we have… Ah excellent! Three of the brightest young witches in Hogwarts," Lupin exclaimed. The three girls thrummed with adrenaline as they stood in front of Snape.

"Now, don't go too easy on your professor girls," Lupin said with a wink.

"And… Begin!"

"EQUIPERTURE!"

"PROTEGO"

"EXPELLIARMUS"

The roar of the girls' incantations caused their peers to jump, and anyone watching closely would have seen Snape's eyebrows rise slightly at the girls' show of spirit.

The professor erected a shimmering shield milliseconds before Anna and Róisín's spells ricocheted off it. A heartbeat later a bright purple spell sparked against Ida's own shield.

" _Titillatio,_ " Snape muttered.

A long sliver of light poured from his wand and snaked towards the girls. Róisín and Anna continued trying to disarm him but his shield stood strong. Ida's wand hand shook and her brow furrowed with the effort of maintaining her own  _protego_. The three girls huddled together to minimize its required size. To their horror, the light wriggled under Ida's shield and split in three, striking each of them in the abdomen. The three Ravenclaws stilled, unaware of the impact Snape's spell would have.

A tickling sensation burst inside of Róisín, not an itchy type of tickle, but the type that makes you writhe on the floor and beg for relief. She clutched her stomach and giggled as Anna squealed. Their shield dropped when Ida's laughter joined theirs and her wand flew across the room with a silent disarming charm from Snape.

" _ **Mutafidus**_ _"_

Róisín felt the tickling sensation abruptly disappear. A thought gripped her:  _Snape is amazing._ He was watching her. Róisín cocked her head to the side like a curious animal and returned his gaze.  _He's smart and powerful… and so kind to help us learn. Why are we fighting him? He deserves better._

Róisín turned and regarded her friends. Ida was wriggling on the floor, wandless. Anna was attempting to stay on her feet and disarm Snape while squirming wildly against an invisible assailant.  _She looks ridiculous, what is she trying to do? Attack our professor? Crazy._ Then a quiet voice fluttered from a corner of her mind.  _Do I always sound like this in my head? These thoughts sound… foreign._ But the train of thought scurried away when she met Snape's gaze.  _I should stop Anna._

Like a wild cat striking its prey Róisín whipped around, threw out her wand hand and cried,

" _ **VOLAT PULSUM**_ _"_

Anna flew into the air like a rag doll and smacked against the stone wall with a revolting thud, followed instantly by a crack as she struck the tiled floor.

The sound freed Róisín from the  _mutafidus_. For a moment the whole class stood still in sickening silence. Then the quiet was ripped apart by Róisín's desperate wail.

A huge wolf patronus darted by as Snape swooped over Anna, muttering furiously as he weaved his wand above her. Róisín staggered towards them, begging incoherently.

"Please… PLEASE…  **NO**.."

Anna lay like a distorted prop from a horror film and seemingly as bereft of life. The sight of her slack jaw and the strange angle her head made with her neck caused Róisín to fall to her knees and dry heave.

She didn't notice Lupin barking orders at her frantic classmates or being shoved out of the way by Madam Pomfrey. Nor did she realise that Ida, shivering and crying, was trying to drag her across the cold stone floor away from Anna's bloodied body. She couldn't hear Ida mumbling in her ear, or feel her trembling arms wrapping around her and rocking her back and forth. All she could feel was a guilty panic that gripped her chest tighter and tighter until she knew it would strangle her.


	7. Interrogation

Róisín woke with a painfully dry throat and a headache that felt like a giant was trying to pop her brains out with a nutcracker. She squinted against the bright light of the room and jerked when she noticed two tall shadows standing just outside the curtain at the end of her bed. They were murmuring in low, insistent tones. The shadows noticed her movement and pulled aside the curtain to reveal Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. The headmaster, who was in his usual flowing robes, stood in colourful contrast to the sinister, black-clad form of the potions professor.

"Miss Feral, how are you feeling?"

Dumbledore spoke softly, although his voice lacked its usual warmth.

Róisín began to speak but her dry throat made her cough. The headmaster conjured her a glass of water which she gulped greedily.

"Em… I don't know Professor… what-"

When her eyes landed on Snape's the memories of the previous day washed over her like an ice-cold waterfall. She gripped her face, horrified, as she frantically searched her professors' expressions.

"Oh God! please tell me she's ok? Please-" Her voice broke as a sob wracked her body.

"Miss Bathworth is alive," Snape said, watching her closely. "She should be fully recovered in a matter of weeks."

Róisín cried as the relief washed over her.

"I'm so, so sorry, I can't believe I…h-hurt her, she's my best friend." Róisín gasped for breath between her words. "Is she awake? May I see her?"

"Madam Pomfrey has decided to put her in a potion induced sleep for two days, to allow her body to heal."

Róisín took deep breaths as she absorbed the information.

"Miss Feral, would you tell us what you recall of the events leading up to the accident?" Dumbledore asked.

_Of course, they're here to interrogate you._

Róisín sniffled and rubbed her leaking eyes and nose.

"Well, Anna made a plan, she was going to use  _equiperture_  to unbalance Snape… I mean Professor Snape, and I was supposed to disarm him... um I mean, you." She glanced at the potions professor. "Ida cast a  _protego amicis_. But Anna and my spells were both blocked by Professor Snape's shield, and a spell of his, I don't know which, somehow slipped under Ida's  _protego_."

"It was a  _titillatio_ spell _,_ a sensory delusion curse which can penetrate  _protego_  shields," Snape explained.

"Oh… well it made me feel…" Róisín blushed as she remembered the effect of Snape's  _titillatio_. It was strange that a spell from the cold, callous professor could initiate such a feeling of excitement and glee, however undesired the feelings were. Róisín swallowed. "It felt like someone was pinning me down and tickling me, I completely lost my concentration, but the feeling disappeared when the professor put me under the  _mutafidus_."

The shame rose in Róisín like an ocean wave as she remembered the moments before she cursed Anna.

"I had these strange thoughts of… respect towards the professor." Róisín winced as she heard her words. "Not strange because I don't normally respect you sir, but just-"

"Relax Miss Feral, I have no doubt that you hold me in very high regard." Snape's sarcasm made Dumbledore's lips quirk.

Róisín swallowed again. "I had this feeling that I needed to protect Professor Snape, and to do that I had to stop Anna, and I must have cast the first spell that came to mind."

"Where did you learn the  _volat pulsum_  curse?" Dumbledore asked

"I... I didn't know I  _had_ learnt it sir, I know I learnt  _of_  it when I came across it in the book: "Advanced duelling techniques" by… who's your one… oh yeah, Esther Hornsthrottle."

The two men didn't reply so she added, "I gave it to Anna for Christmas last year, she loves Hornsthrottle and I borrowed it because I was interested in the theory. I didn't practice any of the spells. I don't understand how I cast it, I didn't even know I had remembered it." Róisín's brow creased as she tried to recall what she had read about the spell.

Dumbledore watched her from behind his famous half-moon glasses.

"I know this must seem crazy, but I never meant to hurt her, the  _mutafidus_  was messing with my head. I don't know  _what_  possessed me to use a spell that I never had before, I suppose when I read about it I didn't realise it was that powerful-"

"- It's not," Snape cut her off.

"Pardon sir?"

"It's not a particularly powerful or violent curse. A normal casting of the  _volat pulsum_  will fling an opponent a couple of feet backwards.  _Your_ spell, however, threw Miss Bathworth high in the air and six metres backward, although it would have been farther if there had been no wall to obstruct her path."

Róisín grimaced.

"I don't understand sir."

"Neither do we," Dumbledore replied. "Although Professor Snape has some interesting theories-"

Dumbledore was cut off by Madam Pomfrey throwing back the curtain fully. She sent Róisín a tight smile.

"Miss Feral, glad to see you up, after the shock you got yesterday."

"What happened after… did I faint?"

"Well, you seem to have had a panic attack dear, so we gave you something to calm you and brought you here to get some rest."

Róisín looked away from the three staff members standing over her bed and focused on the rain tapping at the window, anxiously trying to recall what had happened yesterday, but she could remember nothing after seeing Anna's limp body.

"You may come with me to see Miss Bathworth although she's still asleep," Pomfrey said.

Róisín nodded to her professors and slipped out of the sheets to follow the matron, too anxious to see her friend to care that she was only wearing a hospital gown.

At the other end of the hospital wing Anna lay deep asleep. There was blotchy purple bruising around her normally pearly white neck and shoulders. The sight caused guilt to writhe like worms inside Róisín.

"You may stay with her for a little while but I expect you to attend your afternoon classes. I will let you know when she wakes tomorrow."

"Ok, thank you."

"And the headmaster would like to see you in his office at seven this evening."

"Ok," Róisín replied quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far. I'd be delighted to hear what you think. 
> 
> "Your one" is an expression people from Dublin use to mean "that woman/girl" - (Róisín tends to use colloquialisms when she's stressed)
> 
> If you'd like to read more:   
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12329179/1/The-Stirring


	8. Sióga

Róisín wrung her hands together. She was in Dumbledore's office for the first time. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for the headmaster to appear. Various glinting instruments whirled and vibrated from the nooks and crannies of the room. The quiet was decorated by their soft clicking and purring, as if they were curious woodland creatures chattering about the intruder. Life-like oil paintings of stern wizards hung on any inch of wall that was not covered by a bookcase or cabinet holding strange artefacts. Róisín felt like she had wandered back in time to Da Vinci's study.

"Good evening, Miss Feral"

The headmaster arrived from the corner of her eye, his glorious snowy beard bouncing against his knees as he approached her.

"Please"

He gestured to a chair in front of his imposing, and somewhat cluttered, desk. Its golden clawed feet flexed and gripped the ground, as if strained by their burden. Róisín sat and greeting him with an awkward nod. The previous headmasters scrutinized her from inside ornate, golden frames. The brush strokes describing them flickered as they shifted in their seats to get a better view.

Dumbledore regarded her from beneath bushy eyebrows that reached inches away as if trying to escape his face. The apparent hesitation from the normally eloquent professor was unsettling.

Just as Róisín opened her mouth to interrupt the uncomfortable silence, the fireplace roared. She looked around to see Professor Snape step out of the luminous green flames. He walked across the room and deposited a hefty tome in front of her with a thud. Its title read, " _Enchanted Life - A Classification of Magical Beings_ " in black spiky cursive. The edges of its pages did not line up as if it had been bound by hand.

"Miss Feral, I understand you have been having some unusual problems this year," Dumbledore stated.

Róisín fidgeted in her seat. Snape stood at the window with his back to them, silhouetted against the various shapes of the castle glazed with moonlight.

"I suppose I have," Róisín replied.

"I believe Professor Snape may have found the cause of your problems."

Róisín's eyes flicked back to Snape. He made no comment.

"He suspects you are a  _sióg."_

The hard front-cover of the book hit the desk as its pages flew open, causing Róisín's hair to flick backwards. It landed open on a page with a scratchy animated sketch of a girl strolling through a meadow, the foxgloves around her blooming as she brushed past them. The drawing was in grey pencil except for bursts of colour in the flowers. At the top of the page was written " _Sióga"._

Snape turned around.

"Headmaster, I don't think my presence at this meeting is necessary-"

"-Your insight is always valuable, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted.

It was the first time Róisín had heard Snape addressed by his given name. She saw a ripple of irritation darken his features. He murmured,

" _Muffliato magna"_

Róisín felt as though he had plunged her head into a beehive. Her ears were filled with a loud, incessant buzzing. She watched Snape's pale lips move rapidly as he spoke to the headmaster, as if his normal slow drawl was for the benefit of his dim-witted students. Dumbledore replied stiffly, his expression stern. It was as if both of their personas were discarded during the tense exchange. Róisín felt perturbed. Then the incantation was lifted.

"Read"

Snape's brusque order made Róisín flinch. She reached out a trembling hand to pull the book closer. Out of habit, she rubbed her fingers of one hand together to light a candle beside the book, to see better in the dim light. Instantly, flames shot like whips towards the ceiling from all the candles in the office, illuminating the room like daylight for a second. Then the flames died, leaving the room darker than before.

Róisín's eyes widened as she turned to look at her hand, still suspended near the candle, an inch away from where a flame had just erupted. Snape lit the candle with a click of his fingers. Róisín caught him exchange a look with the headmaster.

"Miss Feral, do you normally use wandless magic for day to day tasks?" Dumbledore asked.

Róisín nodded.

"Anna says that I must be part goblin, that I wouldn't notice if a gremlin came and stole my wand."

"And is it normal for you to exercise such little control?" Snape asked.

Róisín bit and sucked her bottom lip, trying to ignore the tears swelling in her eyes.  _You are a seventh year, you should be better than this._ She released her lip and gave a steady response,

"I've been having difficulties recently… controlling my magic."

She looked down to avoid her professors' eyes, inwardly admonishing herself for being childish.

"Go ahead and read this entry, and we can begin to understand what's happening to you," Dumbledore said kindly, gesturing towards the book.

Róisín began to read:

_A_ _**sióg** _ _(plural:_ _**sióga** _ _) is a female who can use magic. In this regard, she is similar to a witch. However, she receives a different classification because of the connection between her magic and her lust._

Róisín's face ripened red as she read that last word. She carried on reading.

_Sióg is an Irish word meaning "fairy". Written accounts suggest that sióga come exclusively from Celtic countries, most notably Ireland. There are few recorded cases of sióga. The most famous of which is that of Aoife Ní Drisceoil (1705-1811), whose correspondences were studied by the magical historian Professor Ásbjǫrn Rasmussen (1805 – 1931) after her death. There is evidence to suggest that sióga are a strain of_ _**nymph** _ _(see pg. 600-658)._

Róisín looked at Snape, her features contorted with incredulity.

"Y-you think I'm a different  _species?" s_ he gasped.

An unrecognizable emotion twisted his face for a heartbeat, then it was gone. He stared back at her with his trademark indifference.  _Maybe it was a trick of the light._

"The concept of species is largely irrelevant when discussing magical beings. Muggles and wizards are clearly different, yet they can mate with each other," Snape explained slowly, as if such logic were too complex for her.

Dumbledore added,

"Sióga are still human, they just use a different kind of magic to other witches, in the same way that house-elves use a different kind of magic."

"Why do you think I'm a  _sióg_?" Róisín pronounced the unfamiliar word uncertainly. She had studied Irish when she was a child in Ireland, but those lessons felt ages away.

"If you would carry on reading, it will become apparent," Snape said with irritation.

_Various Irish myths dating around the 11_ _th_ _and 12_ _th_ _centuries [331- 402] portray sióga as being small in stature, with shapely figures and unruly hair._

Róisín felt hot. She raised her hand to the back of her hair. Throughout the day knots always knitted themselves into her wavy mane, despite how often she brushed it. Today was no exception.

She was acutely aware of her two professors watching her. Even sitting down Dumbledore seemed to regard her from a great height. Róisín felt small.  _Well I am small, a head shorter than every other girl in my year._ She took a shaky breath and read on.

_These myths describe sióga as being adept at wandless magic, like goblins or elves, although there are reports of sióga using wands. It is unclear whether this is due to habit, as most sióga are raised as witches, or necessity, as a wand may help a sióg focus when performing complex magic._

_The facts surrounding the interaction between a sióg's magic and her lust are unclear. It appears that if a sióg is not fulfilled sexually, she will gradually lose control of her magic and suffer from unsavoury symptoms. According to Rasmussen, Ní Drisceoil was confined by her parents in the year 1724 to prevent her from continuing her illicit affair with the influential wizard Óisín Mac Lochlainn. During that time Ní Drisceoil wrote to a companion complaining of painful menstrual periods, an overwhelming sexual appetite, and erratic displays of powerful magic which she was unable to control. These symptoms hint to a link between the sióg's sex hormones and her magic._

Róisín wasn't usually a sweaty person, but as she realised that these "symptoms" corresponded to the problems she had been having, she felt as sweaty and awkward as if the three of them were sharing a steamy sauna.

"Miss Feral, I realise this meeting is making you feel uncomfortable, which is understandable, but we'll be burnt to a crisp if you continue to raise the temperature," Dumbledore said gently.

Róisín's face burned. She realised that she had been magically heating the air around her. She wished she could melt into a puddle and slip away under the crack beneath the door.

Dumbledore waved his wand and a cool breeze washed over the room. Róisín continued reading.

_Studies of previous sióga state that for a sióg to fulfil herself, she must lie with a wizard or witch (the gender depending on her preference) who has reached magical maturity. If a sióg lays with a wizard whose magic is not sufficiently potent, i.e. who has not reached maturity, the relations may weaken the sióg._

Róisín thought of how she felt sick when she kissed Eóghan.  _But what does it mean "reached magical maturity"? Eóghan's eighteen._ She could ask her professors, but she knew that forming a coherent question would be asking too much of herself, therefore she read on, hoping that she could keep reading forever, so that she wouldn't have to discuss this mortifying situation with her professors.

_The reasons for this remain unclear. The only explanation to be found in the literature was proposed by Rasmussen [450]. He claimed that by lying with a powerful wizard a sióg's magic is disentangled from her lust, relieving her symptoms of "frustration" and giving her sharper control over her magic. As a consequence, the wizard receives the magical energy that bond the sióg's magic and passion together, making him stronger. However, the magic leaked from the sióg during coupling can only latch onto an able wizard, otherwise it will be lost. The reader should note that this analysis relies on the theory of the quantifiability of magic, which has been largely refuted in recent years [10, 35-60]._

_There is evidence that sióga were a lot more common in ancient times [451-455]. Some historians have speculated that they are the origin of the archaic use of the verb "to know" to mean "to have intercourse with". This is because by lying with a sióg a wizard gains some knowledge of her magic which increases his capabilities [456-462]._

_Sióga have been both scorned and coveted in wizarding society. Historically they have been derided for the symptoms they experience when they are unsatisfied. On the other hand, many dark wizards have sought out sióga to exploit them for their power [200-219]._

It was the end of the section on  _sióga._ Róisín hadn't really absorbed the information. She pretended to read over the passage again, but the words were indistinguishable through her tears.


	9. Little Blue Vials

**Previously:**

**_Sióga have been both scorned and coveted in wizarding society. Historically they have been derided for the symptoms they experience when they are unsatisfied. On the other hand, many dark wizards have sought out sióga to exploit them for their power [200-219]._ **

**It was the end of the section on sióga _._ Róisín hadn't really absorbed the information. She pretended to read over the passage again, but the words were indistinguishable through her tears.**

* * *

It started to snow for the first time that winter. The snowflakes falling outside Dumbledore's office window looked like tiny shooting stars plummeting to the ground against the night's sky. Róisín tried to contemplate the millions of unique shapes whirling past, even though they all looked the same to her. No one had said anything since she had finished reading the passage on sióga.

Snape finally decided to stop looming over them like an elongated bat and sat down in an armchair beside the fireplace.

Dumbledore broke the silence,

"It's natural to feel overwhelmed, so first why don't you ask some questions."

A tear trickled down Róisín's cheek and splashed onto the drawing of the sióg, morphing its curvy body into a shapeless blob.

"You're sure I'm a fairy?" she asked.

"There are a lot of signs which would lead us to that conclusion, yes."

"What does it mean?"

"Well, your magical wellbeing will continue to deteriorate until we find you a mature wizard or witch."

"Wizard  _or_ witch?" Róisín repeated dumbly.

"Whichever you'd prefer."

"Miss Feral would prefer a wizard," Snape said, "judging from how she  _discreetly_  eyes her male peers."

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with playfulness at Snape's remark.

"Severus, now isn't the time for flippancy, and we shouldn't presume," he scolded light-heartedly.

Róisín wondered if Snape was thinking of the time he caught her checking out Zoltan Kun, or whether her other teachers had been discussing how distracted she'd been recently. She knew she should feel humiliated, but all she could concentrate on was the painful throbbing above her eyes.

"Snape's right," Róisín said.

" _Professor_ Snape," Snape growled.

"I think we can forgive Miss Feral a bit of insolence, given the circumstance." Dumbledore smiled at her.

Róisín glanced at the potions master, he did not look like he agreed.

"Can I continue my studies at Hogwarts?" Róisín hoped they could not hear the desperation in her voice.

"Of course you can. I would not expel a student for something she cannot control," the headmaster said reassuringly.

"But if I were a squib or-"

"-But you're not. You're an exceedingly powerful magical being," Snape spat the compliment as if it were an insult. He seemed irritated that she could be so ignorant about what she was.

"It's just I read somewhere that ages ago a veela was kicked out of the school-"

"Ah, you refer to Miss Lilyana Valentinieva Draganova." Sorrow tugged at the lines of the headmaster's normally merry countenance. "Alas, at the start of the nineteenth century many of the young men at this school did not uphold the strong moral codes that your colleagues do today-"

Snape let out a low snort. Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard,

"-and Miss Draganova left for her own safety."

"These days veela don't attend the same school as witches, mainly because their magic works in a profoundly different way, hence, they cannot be taught with the same techniques," Snape lectured, his sterile tone contrasting with Dumbledore's compassionate words, "and obviously, their presence can be very…  _disruptive._ However, veela and sióga are quite different-"

 _Of course they are._ Róisín's brain snapped at her.  _I'm too plain to be a veela._

"-a veela is considered the quintessential object of male desire, whereas a sióg is said to personify… active female desire."

_Great, so I don't get to be pretty, just annoyingly horny._

Róisín noticed that Snape's ordinarily unwavering eyes darted away from her at the end of his sentence. She was glad that the topic was making him uncomfortable too.

"I don't understand, the passage said a sióg can… be with a mature wizard." Róisín paused, uncertain. "But when Eóghan and I… were together, it made me feel unwell, even though he's eighteen. Doesn't he qualify as a mature wizard?"

"He's an adult in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic, but that does not mean he has reached magical maturity," Dumbledore replied.

"When will he?"

"McCormack is unlikely to ever reach magical maturity, given the amount of time he spends on his broom trying to impress his female classmates," Snape answered. His tone implied Róisín's question was stupid and naïve.  _Or was that just his default voice?_

"Only especially capable and talented wizards can hope to reach magical maturity," Dumbledore explained. "A mature wizard is an old-fashioned phrase meaning a wizard who has reached the apex of wizarding potential and mastered many forms of magic."

"Oh… so I suppose there aren't many hangin' around," Róisín remarked awkwardly.

"No, there certainly aren't." The gravity in Dumbledore's tone struck Róisín. She saw no trace of his doddering old fool persona in his piercing blue gaze.

Her muscles tensed against the silence in the room.  _I can't believe I'm discussing my future sex life with the two most intimidating men I know._ A drop of delight fell into the rough sea of her emotions as she imagined the look on Anna's face when she told her about this meeting. Then the memory of her best friend's mangled body on the classroom floor hit her like a violent wave and dragged her under. Her shoulders shook, her face scrunched, and hot, fat tears swam down her freckled cheeks.

Snape sighed loudly over her sobs as if he were suffering a mild inconvenience. Dumbledore leaned forward and gave her shoulder a comforting pat.

"I brought a calming draught in case of such a reaction," Snape said evenly, as if she were a broken device he was suggesting how to fix.

"I think it would be unwise to rob Miss Feral of her emotions now, at the moment she discovers the nature of herself," Dumbledore replied.

Róisín's hair fell like curtains and hid her face as she hung her head and blubbered. Through her tears and auburn curls she saw Snape's jaw clench. She presumed he didn't find the headmaster's snippets of wisdom very endearing after hearing them for over a decade.

The minutes dragged by. Róisín continued crying. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Perhaps now it would be reasonable…" Snape had already started handing him the vial of sky blue calming draught.

Róisín took the vial from Dumbledore, and swallowed it greedily, hoping it would wash away the guilt that was relentlessly squeezing tears from her. The potion left a pleasant drowsiness in her stomach, as though she had indulged in a hearty homemade meal, but she still felt numb and weak.

"I think you've made a mistake," Róisín began softly, "you mentioned sióga are powerful, so I couldn't be-"

"-We do not have time to debate. You  **are**  a sióg," Snape snapped, Róisín opened her mouth to protest, but her professor continued, "your effunde brew was ruby, a colour so rare that it has not been seen in thousands of students for thousands of years, a colour signifying  _lust;_ two nights ago I saw you writhe in pain from menstrual cramping, indicating that your magic has begun to wreak havoc on your hormones; you have the physical characteristics of a sióg, you're barely five foot, with overtly feminine proportions and permanently dishevelled hair;" The tirade flew from his lips, as if convincing her was barely worth his time, "you have shown powerful magical potential, but your dangerous lack of control almost killed a student; you turn ill whenever you try to engage with mediocre wizards, and, correct me if I'm wrong, you have felt unbearably  _wanton_  since the start of term-."

"-Severus, that will do," Dumbledore said softly.

Róisín's face blossomed red. Snape's voice was as contained and authoritative as ever, despite his palpable frustration. An uncomfortable realisation crept through her: Snape had probably suspected she was a sióg for a while. She tried to think of something to say so his last statement wouldn't be left echoing in the air.

"I'm so confused, why can I only sleep with wizards who are magically mature?" she directed the question at Dumbledore, avoiding Snape's gaze.

"Professor Snape's more knowledgeable than I am on this matter, so maybe he should explain."

Snape's features darkened as if Dumbledore's statement had been a hidden insult. Then he began explaining in a bored tone,

"No one knows how a sióg's magic functions, there's been so few specimens in recent years that it's not a convenient subject to study, but the following is my understanding; As I'm sure you're aware, women tend to be, in general, more particular than men when choosing their sexual partners. Some people think that sióga can only sleep with a very limited range of wizards because their magic encapsulates and exaggerates this feminine trait."

Róisín felt her skin tingle. She had started to perspire.  _Oh Gods, Snape is talking to me about sex._ Her giddy gaze dashed around his person, flicking past his angled jaw, long torso, crooked nose, prominent Adam's apple, lengthy fingers; never letting her eyes meet his. They finally rested on his thin lips as she willed herself to concentrate.

"It may be a coincidence that the sióga we know of could only lie with magically mature wizards. Perhaps a sióg can only lie with men who represent the epitome of some aspect of her desire, and it just so happens that historically these tended to be very dominant, powerful wizards, who were considered magically mature."

Róisín gulped. Snape's detached academic manner regarding her situation was unnerving.

"However, seeing as all the sióga we know of have only been able to be with magically mature wizards, it'll most likely be the case for you too," Dumbledore said. Snape looked like he disliked this conclusion, but he did not argue. "Before we tackle the problem of finding a mature wizard, there is something we need to discuss. I will ask for your honesty and in return I promise to not hold your opinions against you."

Róisín held the headmaster's gaze, but she heard Snape shift in his seat to her left and felt his eyes puncturing her skull.

"Do you believe Lord Voldemort has returned?"

Before she could stop herself, Róisín reflexively peaked at Snape, recalling the varied rumours she had heard that he had been a you-know-who supporter. Her eyes met his briefly before she shot her head back in Dumbledore's direction. She wondered why being a sióg had anything to do with you-know-who.

"Emm, I don't know, sir," she answered. Her two professors gazed at her expectantly, both silent and still. Róisín, who tended to babble when flustered, rushed to explain herself, "I don't know Potter, but I know from Anna, who's cousins with Alicia Spinnet, who plays Quidditch with him, that he's really nice-not an attention seeking prat at all, and em, well I don't believe that you're the power grabbing lunatic the Prophet paints you to be, but at the same time, well not a lot has happened since… Diggory died, and I've read that students have died in that competition before… I honestly don't know." Róisín inhaled and continued in a small voice, "I suppose I don't want to believe he's back, especially because I'm muggle-born."

In the silence that followed Róisín inwardly groaned at the contrast between her professors' elegant articulations and her own jabbering.

"All perfectly reasonable thoughts, Miss Feral," Dumbledore said, "however, for the purpose of this discussion, you must believe me when I say that, unfortunately, Lord Voldemort  **has**  returned."

Róisín nodded slowly and tried to return the headmaster's steady gaze. Dumbledore gestured to the book open on the "Sióga" page.

"That book claims that dark wizards have sought to exploit sióga. Do you understand why?"

As the colour drained from Róisín's face, her freckles stood out sharply.

"Because by sleeping with them, they gain some kind of power?" she asked uncertainly.

"That is the general belief." Dumbledore paused. "Therefore, you can understand why the return of Lord Voldemort is pertinent to this discussion."

The headmaster's words caused Róisín's fear to rise like a serpent winding itself around her body, squeezing the breath from her. She did not know what to say.

"As long as… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is unaware of what you are, you will be safe," Snape commented. Róisín noted that he had paused as if reluctant to mention the infamous wizard.

"That is why we must ensure that the knowledge of you being a sióg does not leave this room," the headmaster said, his expression more serious than Róisín had ever seen. Her chest clenched as if the serpent of fear encircling her had pulsated viciously.  _You-Know-Who really is back. And if He discovers what you are He will find you and He will…_

Róisín grasped her face in her hands and pushed her eyes back into her skull, sickened by her own thoughts.

"oh god, oh god, oh god…" she repeated through clenched teeth.

Snape placed another little blue vial on the desk in front of her. Róisín threw the milky concoction down her throat. She breathed out slowly, shuddering, as a familiar calming warmth spread through her.  _Exhale, inhale, exhale._ She gave her head a tiny shake to dislodge the milky clouds obscuring her thoughts.

"But if He  _does_  find out?" Róisín asked.

Both men stilled, hesitating. Their eyes flicked to each other.

"He won't," Dumbledore stated firmly. "You can have complete faith in Severus and myself." He paused. "However, I believe that it may be difficult for you to not inadvertently let it slip to your friends."

"But I can tell my closest friends, like Anna, right? She'd never betray me."

"The problem with teenage girls," Snape drawled, "is that they each have a close friend who would never tell a soul their secret, who in turn has another close friend who would never tell, until the whole world knows." He glanced at Dumbledore, who gave a slight nod.

"Stand," Snape ordered as he rose from his seat. Róisín stood on shaky feet a pace from him. He stepped closer and raised his unusually long, black wand, so that it pressed against her bottom lip in a "shush" gesture. Róisín eyes rounded like an owl's as she craned her neck up to look at him. She promptly blushed at the eye contact and lowered her head to stare at his chest.  ** _What_** _is going on?_

" _Lingua ligatum"_

Róisín bit her lip as her mouth and tongue vibrated strangely in response to Snape's incantation. Then he stated in an oddly formal tone,

"You may speak about the matter to Albus Dumbledore."

Snape returned to his seat. Róisín remained standing for a moment, completely baffled, before she sat back down.

"That was a tongue-tying spell, Miss Feral," Dumbledore explained. "You will lose your voice if you try to discuss anything related to being a sióg to someone other than Professor Snape and myself."

Róisín gritted her teeth.  _There's no need to treat me like a child, s_ he thought moodily.

"Simply a precaution, Miss Feral, to ensure your safety," Dumbledore said as if he could hear her thoughts. "Now, back to the matter of finding you a partner. Unfortunately, there are only a handful of wizards who I know to be magically mature, and less still who we can trust."

Róisín shivered. A bolt of fire shot from Snape's wand into the fireplace, which flared and began to hiss and crackle playfully, jarring with the ominous tone of Dumbledore's words. Snape's knuckles went white as he grasped the wings of his armchair, as if bracing himself for an impact, although the rest of him did not betray his cool demeanour. He stared at the fire as if it were slightly more interesting than his present company. Róisín felt her shirt cling to her sweaty back as she straightened in her seat.

"Of course, as it takes many years to become skilful enough to be considered magically mature, most of these wizards are considerably older than yourself. However, I do know an exceptionally young wizard who is widely considered to be magically mature."

"Oh" Róisín felt her spirits lift slightly, "What age is he, sir?

"Thirty-five."

"Oh, that's not old at all," Róisín exclaimed, relieved. She had been imagining wizards similar in age to the headmaster.  _I've fancied loads of thirty-something-year-olds._ A shirtless, sweaty Brad Pitt from the film fight club stalked across her imagination.  _He was mid-thirties then..._

Róisín shook her head hastily and continued, "So I'll be ok, my magic will stop going haywire if I sleep with this mature wizard?" Although still mortified at the topic of conversation, she felt reassured that she might be able to continue practicing magic without being a threat to those around her.

Dumbledore smiled. "That's the theory."

"Is there any chance he would be, em, willing?" Róisín asked, blushing.

Dumbledore didn't answer, but turned to look at Snape. Róisín, confused, reluctantly looked at the potions masters too. The man in question was still as a statue, glaring at the flickering flames, although Róisín sensed that under his heavy black robes his muscles were tense like an elastic band pulled too far and she felt the need to look away as if he might snap.

 _Why does Dumbledore think Snape would know if the wizard would…_ Her thought died as the realisation hit her.  _Snape is the magically mature thirty-five-year-old._

She turned away to face the window. The blurry white shapes swirling frantically in the wind outside mirrored her frenzied thoughts.  _Dumbledore thinks Snape should be the one to... but he doesn't want to, he's furious about it._ The fear engulfed her as if she were slipping slowly into the icy waters of the black lake.  _That's why he's been acting so sullen with Dumbledore!_ Before this meeting Róisín had never seen the potions master be anything less than respectful towards the headmaster. She suddenly felt more afraid than when she had heard of You-Know-Who's possible interest in her. At least that had felt far away, like a spooky fairy tale no one really believes. The surly man sitting in front of the fire was undeniably real.

Then, without turning from the flames, Snape released his death grip on the poor armchair, reached into his robes and pulled out yet another blue vial and held it out to Róisín.

"Is a  _third_  dose necessary Severus?" the headmaster questioned.

"Oh, it is," Snape replied tersely.

Róisín realised that the air was shivering with her fear and that her chair had been jumping an inch with every violent beat of her heart. She took the vial from Snape gingerly, neither of them looking at the other's face. This time the potion had a powerful effect on her, and she suddenly felt very calm and sleepy. She realised that Dumbledore and Snape were talking and strained to listen to what they were saying, like an exhausted child fighting to stay awake at a sleepover.

"Well I think that's enough information for Miss Feral to absorb in one night, considering her mental faculties are at this stage severely befuddled," Dumbledore was saying.

"Better befuddled than running from the room screaming, Albus," Snape snapped. "My presence was wholly unnecessary, if we had asked Minerva or Poppy-"

"-It is vital that no one can know, you of all people should understand."

Róisín was vaguely aware of her professors arguing in front of her. She knew she must have the dazed look of a happy drunk, but she still had questions she wanted to ask. Now that the potion was flowing merrily through her veins, she didn't feel like the situation was all that bad. Yes, she'd have to sleep with Snape, but it was kind of exciting, wasn't it? The prospect of sex with an older man.  _And he has such… presence. It would really help my sexual frustration. And if I squint my eyes and title my head just right, he doesn't look so bad._

Róisín noted that her professors had stopped quarrelling under their breaths and were now looking at her, Snape with his trademark scowl of condescension, Dumbledore with a look of slight concern. She realised she had been staring at Snape and straightened up.

"I'm not at all b-befubbled," she began, "I feel-" but she stopped as she heard how peculiar her voice sounded.

Snape's raised an eyebrow at her. The tiny part of her brain which remained lucid railed against the unfairness of his derision, seeing as he was the one to give her the potion. She was vaguely aware that the effect of this potion had been amplified by the previous two. She felt uncharacteristically uninhibited.

"So, the plan is for me to sleep with Professor Snape?" she asked brazenly, determined to leave with answers.

Snape's eyebrows flickered with disbelief and he looked away from her, pinching the bridge of his hooked nose in exasperation. Róisín could tell he was straining against the instinct to reprimand her.

"Well, we'll have to test whether that will work," Dumbledore answered.

"There's still hope that I'm not to your magic's  _taste,_ " Snape sneered.

"Oh," Róisín breathed, confused as to what they meant. "When will we do that?"

"If you could come again tomorrow at seven in the evening," the headmaster replied. Snape shot him an unrestrained filthy look, but Dumbledore's smile didn't falter.

"Will do, sir"

"Well, that's all for tonight, Miss Feral, we'll see you tomorrow."

"OK, good night professors"

Róisín trotted merrily down the Headmaster's spiral staircase. However, as she neared the west side of the castle unpleasant thoughts broke through the mist of the potion and her footsteps began to pound the brickwork moodily.  _If only I were normal and could kiss Eóghan._ The Scottish boy's youthful grin morphed into Snape's sullen sneer in her head.  _My first time should be with someone I feel close to - not the most intimidating professor at Hogwarts._  She groaned out loud. A group of important looking wizards in an adjacent painting turned to stare, shocked that a young girl could make such an indecent noise.  _Although,_ A sly voice inside her began,  _intimidation and power can be kind of sexy..._ Róisín felt her face glow red in the darkness.  _That's just the potion talking, s_ he thought dismissively.

By the time she was dragging herself up the staircase to Ravenclaw tower she was entirely sober. And mortified. Her head relentlessly replayed the most embarrassing bits of the meeting, such as the look on Snape's face when she had asked shamelessly about sleeping with him. She realised now that the last potion was more than a simple calming draught, Snape must have added something to relieve her embarrassment. She didn't know whether that was creepy or strangely sweet.

She managed to solve the riddle (what breaks when you say its name? – silence) and slip up to her room without having to chat to anyone. Despite her exhaustion, she lay awake for a long time worrying what Dumbledore meant by "testing" whether Snape would work out and dreading her potions class the next day.

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear what you think!**


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